the moon flared suddenly and revealed him in his grim appointment.
Across there was the livery stable, where the forty-five-dollar horse and saddle waited a buyer. Dunham stood looking at the dim light in the dusty webbed windows of the office, thinking it might pay him to look that horse over in the morning. The moon jumped a crevasse between two snowbanks of cloud, lighting up the white road with sudden gleam.
Dunham turned at the soft sound of footsteps in the dust. The girl called Zora was cutting hurriedly across the road: in the intermittent beam and dark of the sidewalk, Ford Kellogg was sauntering toward MacKinnon's door.
